Georgian Bay by Luis Keesmaat-Freeman

By Luis Keesmaat-Freeman

It was a crisp fall morning. The warm sun peered through the window above my bed, wrapping around my face like a blanket, welcoming me into one of my last few days at the cottage. For the time being, I thought it was going to be a good day. My parents built the cottage seven years earlier when I was five. Before that, I spent my summers with my extended family across the bay. I had spent every summer on the lake between the two places since I was 2. The cottage had become a special place. Growing up on the lake, it had become a second home and a place of transformation and change. At eight, I had the freedom to roam and build forts on the island alone, and at twelve, after completing my boating license, I had the freedom to explore the bay. Today would become another milestone, but of a different kind. I would start to understand my limitations.

I sat up, slid over to the edge of the bed, and planted my feet on the floor. The cold shock of the hardwood on my bare feet reminded me that the cold fall weather was just outside. As I walked downstairs, I glanced outside the window; big gusts of wind swept across the lake, leaving fierce waves behind them. It was a mess out there. 

“Good morning, Honey.” My mom chimed as I turned the corner into the kitchen. In response, I let out an inaudible mumble. They all took the hint. I sat silently at the kitchen bar and poured myself a bowl of Cheerios. A memory of our bustling childhood family breakfasts popped into my head. We all started the day together, and my dad made impressive amounts of pancakes and bacon. There always seemed to be extra cousins and friends at the table, contributing to the chaos, but now I was grateful for the quiet. Weather aside, it was a typical morning at the cottage. My dad was sitting in the living room reading the paper, my sister was lying on the sofa with her phone, and my mom was puttering around the house. Nothing out of the ordinary. 

It was late October, which meant the end of our cottaging season was approaching. As a result, a lot of work needed to be done: boats needed to be put away, the cottage needed to be cleaned, water floaties needed to be taken out, and leaves needed to be raked. Unfortunately, this entailed a lot of work for me. It started with helping rake leaves. My dad shouted from outside, “Luis! Come help your poor mother; she’s working all alone!” Honestly, I didn’t mind raking leaves because it meant I got to empty them onto the bonfire. With each pile of leaves added to the fire, a cloud of smoke would reach out as if it were clawing its way into the sky. But that amusement didn’t last long; I was soon asked to help bring the boats to the marina. 

My dad wanted to drop off the small boat because it was too cold to use, but he needed someone to pick him up at the marina. Enthralled at the idea of driving alone for the first time, I jumped on the opportunity. The wave of excitement soon expired as I began to think about what this meant: being alone on the lake with no one to call if I got lost or worse. With every possible scenario of what could go wrong spinning through my head, I turned to my dad, “Maybe this isn’t such a good idea; what if I got lost or something worse happened?”

“Suck it up. You’ll be fine. Stay close behind me in the other boat on your way there,” he replied. Despite not being sure if he was just saying this because he needed the help, I nodded willingly, not wanting to disappoint. Although, he had a point: I couldn’t get lost as long as I stayed close behind. 

My confidence returned, and I ran inside to grab a jacket. Before I knew it, I was untying the boat. I hopped in and patiently waited for my dad to catch up. I reached beneath the throttle and turned the key. After a few chugs, the engine released a soft purr, and I was ready to go. I let go of the dock and was on my way. As the boat began to quickly blow towards the shore, it occurred to me that there was another factor in the trip I had not considered: the weather. It was too late to change my mind. I had already committed to helping my dad. Plus, I didn’t want to chicken out; this was my chance to show everyone I was growing up. As I drove away, I wishfully looked back at my cottage, and little did I know then, at my childhood. 

Cold water splashed over the coping of the boat, chilling my hands as I swiftly took the boat out of neutral to avoid the approaching shoreline. I steered in behind my dad as he slowly accelerated. I accelerated too. The frosty air whipped around my face as I followed my dad through the twisting and rocky Georgian Bay water. As we turned the corner out of our bay, I began to notice my dad was slowly pulling away from me. This was not surprising – he was in a much bigger boat. The security of being right behind him vanished as he faded into the distance, and before I knew it, he was out of sight. “It’s alright,” I muttered out loud to calm myself. I still knew the way. I reaffirmed my grip on the steering wheel, and my nerves began to settle. I continued along the familiar path and eventually turned into the final bay with the marina. I knew the way from here, but the waves suddenly caught me off guard. They were big. Really big. This was a large bay of open water, and today the winds were making waves that looked suitable for surfing. I held on tight as my little fifteen-foot boat struggled and bounced me around. I was filled with resolve. The marina was coming into view, and soon everything would be fine. But then – the unimaginable happened. The motor stopped roaring despite my consistent grip on the throttle. My boat began to slow down. 

Click… click… click… and silence. 

Quiet. Deafening quiet. 

My little boat was still, except for the bouncing of the waves on the hull. I frantically reached for the key and turned it as hard as possible. It rumbled but would not start. Fear began to take over. It felt like I was lost at sea. The waves became more aggressive and crashed up against the side of the boat, pushing me further and further from my destination. Further from my dad. Further from safety. In what seemed like an instant, the marina was out of view. To my port side, an island shoreline was getting closer – and I was at risk of a precarious crash. At this point, rational thinking was out of the question, and I broke down. Tears streamed down my face. The harsh weather and gray skies enveloped me. I was terrified. Boats that drove by in the distance, my potential rescuers, did not seem to notice my frantic waves. With each passing boat, my spirit sank a little bit more. I steadied myself on my seat on the bench behind the wheel as the waves threw me about, but I continued to panic. I was searching for answers, and my head was spinning in every direction. I truly had no idea what to do next. I was so worked up that I didn’t notice my dad approaching in his boat. He arrived – calm, steady and just in time – and pulled his boat up next to mine. He deftly tied the small boat to the one he was driving, and we slowly made our way to the marina.

Just like that, everything was okay again. I made myself comfortable next to him while he drove and enjoyed the safety of his presence. He looked over, a bit mystified, and asked: “How come you’re so upset? Did you really think I wouldn’t have come for you?” He was right, and I knew it too. I was too overwhelmed to see past the moment I was in. I had lost perspective and forgotten one key fact: no matter how far I drifted, he would have spent endless hours looking for me. He wrapped his arm around me and pulled me close. The waves gently splashed against the boat’s hull as we slowly drove in silence to the marina. And everything was alright.